


Always Shall Be

by Saucery



Series: Space Husbands [9]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Adorkable, Alternate Universe - Children, Childhood, Childhood Sweethearts, Children, Cute, Destiny Conspires to Bring Us Together, Diplomacy, First Love, Fluff, George Kirk Never Died, Gratuitous Hand-Holding, Kid Fic, M/M, Telepathy, The Mysterious Absence of Winona Kirk, Tiny Kirk, Tiny Spock, Touching, Twee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:33:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Vulcan ambassador has this kid, all tall and gawky and serious, with shoulders so stiff they might as well be two knobs on a plank of wood. His name's Spock, and he has the dorkiest hairstyle Jim's ever seen. It's like a helmet, smooth and shiny, and Jim wonders if it comes right off, like the plastic hairpieces on those antique Lego sets he used to play with when he was five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Shall Be

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate universe in which our heroes find themselves - and each other - much earlier.

* * *

 

Dad keeps his hand on Jim's shoulder when they meet the Vulcan delegation, like maybe Jim's going to start doing cartwheels or just abruptly drop trou and moon Ambassador Sarek.

Well, it isn't like Jim hasn't thought of it, but -

"Impulse control," mutters Dad, above him, through gritted teeth. He's smiling. Painfully.

"Of course, Papa," says Jim, making the 'papa' come out all British and stuffy, and Dad's hand tightens.

"Admiral Kirk," greets Ambassador Sarek, and whoa, the lady next to him is _really_ pretty. Sarek's Human wife? Jim's heard the rumors, but damn. He'd cross the species line for cheekbones that fine. "We appreciate your offer of help at such short notice."

"Please, call me George." Dad turns to the pretty lady.

"Amanda," she says, and holds out her hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise. Was your journey pleasant?"

"Oh, very. It was terribly long, though."

"I heard. Was it the warp drive...?"

"The warp drive suffered from a temporal phase at zero point three two Naglums," says Sarek. "Thus, the ship was left idling in hyperspace for seventeen point eight four Standard hours, and our arrival was correspondingly delayed."

"Tough luck," says Dad, and Sarek just - _looks_ at him.

"Indeed," he replies. "The probability of such a malfunction occurring was very low." And his voice is still totally deadpan, but something about it makes Jim think that either Ambassador Sarek is accusing them of sabotage, or he's just trying to convey to this illogical Human that 'luck' is a load of bullshit. Or both. Jim can't quite be sure.

"That's too bad." Dad isn't looking away, either. "These things happen, don't they?"

"They do," says Amanda, with a sort of steely serenity that seems to be conveying to her husband: _Shut up and be diplomatic._

Sarek smiles. It's a bit scary.

"You're only here for the repairs, I take it?" Dad's relaxing; Jim can feel it, because his grip on Jim's shoulder is no longer homicidal. Jim has no idea how his Dad can relax after seeing that smile.

"It should take no longer than twenty-eight point nine one Standard hours," says Sarek, as if each of those hours will be spent in purgatory. It's weird; Vulcans are supposed to be emotionless, but they're really, obviously… not. "We should be gone by the morrow."

"It's such a pity." Amanda sounds genuinely disappointed. "I would've loved to spend more time here."

"There will be other journeys," says Sarek.

"Right," coughs Dad, and pushes Jim forward. Gently. "This is my son, Jim."

"Hello, Jim," says Amanda, and _dimples_.

Jim melts. "Uh. Hello."

Sarek's jaw clenches.

"Well!" Dad pulls Jim back, whips him around, and looks him very firmly in the eyes. "I have a job for you, son. You up for it?"

"Joy," says Jim, and sighs.

* * *

 

The Vulcan ambassador has this kid, all tall and gawky and serious, with shoulders so stiff they might as well be two knobs on a plank of wood. His name's Spock, and he has the dorkiest hairstyle Jim's ever seen. It's like a helmet, smooth and shiny, and Jim wonders if it comes right off, like the plastic hairpieces on those antique Lego sets he used to play with when he was five.

Those are interesting eyes, though. Titanium-dark and thoughtful, but banked, somehow, like quiet fires. They make Jim want to bother him, a little. So he does.

"Yo," he says, and sticks out his hand. He knows that Vulcans are touch-telepaths, and that most people don't _want_ to touch them, but. Jim's not most people. And, heh, more importantly, he needs to see Spock's reaction. "The name's Jim. My Dad asked me to look out for you, while your Dad talks shop with him."

"You are James Kirk," Spock says, voice low and cultured. It's a really nice voice. "I am Spock."

Wow, and if _that_ isn't you-Tarzan-me-Jane, Jim doesn't know what is. "Yeah. Good to know." He keeps his hand in the air.

Spock's eyes flick down to it, then up. "Vulcans are touch-telepaths," he explains, patiently, like everyone and their alien grandma doesn't know it already. "If you are attempting to establish a 'handshake'," and Jim can totally hear the quotation marks, "then I am obliged to inform you of this fact."

"Why?" Jim tilts his head. "I mean, why you gotta inform me?"

"You would not be - comfortable - with having your thoughts read."

"How'd you know how I feel about it? You haven't touched me, yet."

"That," says Spock, and blinks. "That is logical."

"Yep." Jim keeps his hand where it is. A grin's pulling at the corners of his mouth; he lets it.

There's a drawn-out moment of pained - yeah, that's the only word for it - silence. And then, finally, Spock reaches for his hand.

Spock _jumps_ , the instant they touch, like Jim's electrocuted him, or something. His palm's really soft, but the tips of his fingers are really rough. Console calluses? Anyway, it's a nice hand. Like it was a nice voice. And nice eyes - okay, maybe more than nice, and maybe Spock was wondering why the hell Jim wanted to touch him, but if he was, well, now he knows. Seriously, those cheekbones.

His hair's still dorky, though.

Jim realizes that he hasn't said anything for, like, several seconds, and that could be... awkward.

But Spock's eyes are wide, like Jim's said something insane, or _is_ insane, and he says, "ah," all quiet-like, followed by a more certain, "You are highly illogical."

Jim snorts. "No kidding. Hey, you play chess, right? The 3D kind? Heard you were the interplanetary champion."

"Only for the youth division," Spock says, and Jim rolls his eyes.

"Still, it's pretty cool."

Spock twitches; his hand is hot in Jim's, so hot that Jim's palm is actually starting to sweat a bit, but Vulcans have high body temperatures, don't they? "There is no thermal unit of measurement attributable to the Interplanetary Chess Championship," he says, and Jim thinks, loudly, _but there_ is _a thermal measurement attributable to your skin_. Spock twitches again.

"Come on," Jim says, and tugs Spock's hand. If this were any other boy, Jim would totally have let go by now, but he knows that it's _bothering_ Spock, in a cute kind of way, and the fact that Spock's reading all his thoughts, including this one, makes something in Jim leap and spark. "I've got my Dad's old set to play on, but I never really learned how. You can teach me."

"I," says Spock, stumbling after him, still looking like he's been hit over the head. "Certainly."

They've only got a day to themselves, but in that day? Jim's going to get as much inside Spock's head as he's letting Spock into his own.

 

* * *

**fin.**  
Please review!

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Check out [my blog](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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